


isn't this still winning

by tsunderestorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Sometimes, Noctis wants it hard and sometimes, antagonizing Gladiolus is the best way to do it.





	isn't this still winning

**Author's Note:**

> So. Originally I wasn't going to de-anon this because it's _such_ unrepentant filth but it got a positive response on the kink meme so...here we are. Originally posted [here](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=2372296#cmt2372296).

“What's wrong, Gladio?” Noctis tosses over his shoulder as he warps again - just out of reach. He’s baiting him, testing him. _Antagonizing_ him because after all the years he’s known him, there’s no better way to get what he wants right now. What he _need_. He’s toeing a very fine line between frustrating him and turning him on, one that he hopes he can cross. “Can't catch me?”

It’s working. Gladio’s movements are getting less technical and more predatory, his sword in his hand but it's his fingers Noctis feels graze his wrist as he reaches out to grab him. His breath, normally calculated and even, is ragged and heavy and Noctis can _smell_ the desire mounting in him, feel it in the heat that ripples between them when they brush against each other.

“Guess you're just - “ Noctis taunts before executing another point warp, and then another. “ - too slow.”

Warping isn’t making him sick today, hyped on adrenaline and endorphins as he is, drunk on the power of finally gaining the upper hand for once. He’s high on the danger of it; memories of his lusty dreams still fresh in his mind and the one singular thought of _I’m getting his dick today_ drowning out all other reasonable processes. He knows what he wants, he knows how to get it - Gladiolus is easier than he wants to believe that he is and he just needs a little push, really - something to draw out the rougher side.

He gets it.

Gladiolus slams him to the ground, pinning him _hard_ with a hand around his neck as he kneels above him, hovering in a crouch just above Noctis’s waist. Noctis doesn’t have the strength to throw him, doesn’t have the advantageous position to wriggle away or even warp, shocked as he is. He has no choice but to stare up at him - hulking, _looming_ , a solid wall of muscle and warm, tattooed skin that he wants to get his hands on, his _mouth_ on. He wants to lick the salt from the cords of his neck, wants to dig his nails into those sculpted shoulders and _gods_ he hates when he’s like this, needy and desperate and hungry for it. It gives Gladiolus too much of an ego boost for his liking, makes his mouth curl into a smug, wicked grin and his whole _demeanor_ change.

“What's your fucking _problem?”_ Gladiolus snarls, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. He’s dripping sweat, chasing Noctis enough of a workout on its own even without his constant teasing. Noctis can hear the intake of his breath, practically _taste_ the sweat of adrenaline on him, sharp and jarring. Fucking _rank_ , but something...more. A rich undercurrent of _desire_ , just what Noctis wants. Just what he was betting on.

He doesn’t want to make it easy. Not when he has a reputation to uphold; not the lazy, sleepy one but the one reserved just for Gladiolus - he’s _difficult_ , he doesn’t listen, he’s a _brat._ Even when Gladiolus steps off of him to flop down cross-legged on the training mats next to him, he knows it doesn’t mean defeat, _certainly_ doesn’t indicate a lack of interest. So he pushes a little harder. 

“Don't have one,” he says flippantly as he rises up on his elbows, staring at Gladio from beneath his sweaty bangs, surveying the way his pants hug his sculpted thighs, the sharp v of his hips descending into his waistband. “Just figured I should probably give you a taste of how it feels to lose.”

Noctis is used to - sort of - the way Gladiolus manhandles him, moves him how he wants. Like Noctis is some kind of toy, a little prince doll, clothes to be removed and body posed at Gladiolus’s request. It’s been that way ever since they started up with this, ever since Gladiolus slammed him against the heavy oaken door of the training room, fucked deep into his mouth with a hungry tongue as he rutted his cock against his hip. It’s familiar: the way he curls his big hands around Noctis’s and puts them where he wants, the way he presses him back flush to a wall with legs curled around his waist or face-first into the mattress, down on his elbows and ass in the air. What he's not used to, however, is the way Gladio throws him across his lap this time, face first over his crossed legs.

“Sit still,” he snarls when Noctis squirms in his grip, voice low and rough. It stops Noctis in his tracks, makes him listen even though he doesn’t want to. It’s already getting to him - the low pitch of his voice, the bittersweet smell of his arousal, the way he’d caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes blown nearly black with feral lust when he’d seen his bodyguard’s concentrated face.

“That’s right,” Gladiolus sneers down at him when Noctis stills, quietly condescending. “Be a good boy and do what you’re told. For fucking _once_.”

The first crack of his bodyguard’s big hand on his ass cheek is jarring, and he yelps, body arching sharply off Gladiolus’s leg as his hand claws on reflex at the man’s thick thigh. “Bet you weren't expecting that, huh?” Gladiolus asks. “How's that feel?”

It's really not fair, Noctis thinks, that he doesn't even give him time to answer before his palm is landing again, _hard,_ on his ass, making the other cheek sting as much as the first. Noctis mumbles against Gladio’s leg, nothing coherent, really, just a placeholder while he tries to process his heart racing and blood rushing in his ears. He’s silently regretting his decision to not wear underwear, today - another layer between the pure strength in Gladiolus’s hand and his tender ass would be nice right about now, ease of getting what he wants or not. He moans when Gladiolus hits him again, softer than the first two but _squeezing_ , fingers digging in hard to the meat of his ass and kneading, drawing out another moan.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Gladiolus keeps going - over and over, hand landing on his ass. _Spanking_ him, and only when Noctis is positive his skin is so raw it must be bleeding does he stop. Carelessly, he reaches under Noctis, unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants so he can wrench them out of the way, tug his cock out and give it a few good jerks. It’s rock-hard against Noctis’s belly, smearing precum onto his flushed skin and gods, he tries, but he can’t swallow the moan that elicits. It doesn't escape Gladiolus’s notice and he scoffs when he sees, a low laugh bubbling from the back of his throat as he nudges his leg up so his thigh bumps against Noctis’s dick, hard in his pants and _clearly_ interested in being reprimanded ( _punished_ , even) like a disobedient child.

Noctis knows he should fight. He shouldn’t make this so easy on him, shouldn’t lift his hips off Gladiolus’s lap when he smacks the backs of his thighs sharply as an order, should roll them so Gladiolus can tug his pants down so they’re bunched at his knees, exposing his bare ass to his appraising gaze. There’s a moment where Noctis swears he can _feel_ the smirk he’s wearing on his face, even before he grunts his approval and runs the pads of his calloused fingers over the angry red handprints on his skin and it’s damn near infuriating. _But,_ he thinks, _isn’t this what I wanted? Isn’t this still_ winning _?_

Gladiolus runs his hand over tender, raw skin for a few moments, rubbing gently like he's trying to soothe the sting and it makes Noctis shiver - their bodies are hot but the room is cool and the dueling sensations are too much for him. The way Gladiolus is already panting, not even moving yet because the way Noctis is squirming in his lap is enough to get his dick the friction he needs. He’s gentle for just a second, and then his fingers slip into Noctis’s ass crack and Noctis sucks in a breath, knowing full damn well what he’s going to find and - 

“Did you fucking play with yourself?” Gladiolus asks, pad of his finger rubbing across the slick clutch of his hole. “Come to me all fucked open just so you could get this big dick?”

Noctis shivers. Gladio’s fingers are so rough, calloused fingertips and impatient touches, easily fucking two fingers deep into the easy spread of his slick hole, crude and commanding. _Yes_ , he thinks, but he can’t make the words come out, can’t make anything but moans slip out his lips.

“All you have to do is ask, you know.” Gladio offers as he hooks his fingers, curling them inside and making Noctis’s body crumple against him. “But you'd rather piss me off than admit you live and breathe for this cock. That the way the slut prince of Lucis does it, huh?”

Noctis shivers, one hand braced on the training mats and the other curling around Gladio’s knee, desperate for purchase. He's acutely aware of how hard his dick is, how he can feel so full on two of Gladio’s rough fingers and so _empty_ at the same time. He wants _more_ , wants to feel Gladio inside of him, thick and hard and hot, needs to be split open by his big cock before he’s anywhere close to satisfied for the day.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, rocking down against him. His dick is trapped between his belly and Gladio’s thigh and it makes him gasp, breath sucked in sharp as he shifts for a more comfortable position when there isn’t one, not a single way to situate himself that doesn’t remind him of how badly he wants a dick instead of the fingers fucking into his ass. “I did. I want it.”

Want isn’t a strong enough word. He _needs_ it. It's easy to feel Gladio’s dick through his pants, to feel the hot, hard line of it through his loose sweats, the slight damp patch on the fabric. He knows the size of it by heart: the length, the impossible thickness of it. He’s memorized the feel of it on his tongue, cradled in his palm, the way it pulses in his grip, the way it spreads him open. He knows it and gods, he wants it.

Gladio brings his hand to Noct’s head, carding the fingers that aren’t knuckles-deep in his hole through soft, sweat-damp hair. “You could have just told me, princess.” His voice is low, smooth and rough all at one, like thick velvet and it makes Noctis shiver.

“Let me up,” Noctis croaks, voice hoarse. “Wanna ride you.” Gladio makes a noise in the back of his throat, noncommittal but pleased, and hauls Noctis to a position where he's in his lap with his thighs splayed wide over his own. Gladio reaches between them, unbuckling his belt and dragging down the zipper on his pants and Noctis swears he almost _dies_ when the head of it brushes against his twitching hole. 

Noctis says “fuck me,” and it's all Gladio wanted, all he needed to _let go_ , and all of a sudden it’s so much, too much. Gladio grunts when he shoves the blunt tip inside, hands curled on Noct’s thighs as he sinks onto it. Gladio’s dick is spreading him open and he just has more and more and _more_ to give, even when Noctis swears it's so much it'll just burst right out. 

He never lasts when he’s riding him. Gladio is so much to take, so exhausting; such an overwhelming presence that it’s easier to let himself be pushed off the big man’s lap and unceremoniously onto the floor than it is to try and keep his shaking legs from crumpling. Gladio doesn't even care that they're on the floor of the training room, only cares about looming over him and rutting into him like an animal. It’s hot, Noctis thinks blearily, that Gladio’s shadow is so _big_ around him, long in the light of the sun setting through the floor-length windows, how he completely covers him with his sheer bulk. 

Gladio’s hands are on his hips yanking him to back to meet every thrust every time he slams forward, fingers digging in bruisingly hard on his skinny hips and Noctis sinks down lower, knees spreading and the angle change is enough to make him scream. He aches from the weight of Gladio's bulk hitting him, balls tender and over sensitive from the slap of Gladio’s against them but he just wants _more_. He’s ashamed of how he’s acting, knows he’ll have a whole week of gloating from his obnoxious bodyguard to deal with but _gods_ is it worth it for the dicking he’s getting now.

“Fucking... _brat_ ,” Gladio curses as he relinquishes the hold on his hip with one hand to drag it up his back and into his hair, yanking his head back so Noctis will stop echoing his moans into the floor. “Can't just...beg for it when you want it, have to make it a big damn deal.”

Noctis rasps out _“Gladio,”_ and it only serves to make him fuck harder. It's animalistic, primal, Gladio using him as little more than a toy to squeeze his cock and that's how Noctis _likes_ it, likes not having to do any work and getting a sweet reward. He’d die for Gladio pounding into him, die for the chance to get fucked stupid by his shield.

“You like that?” Gladio keeps asking, eager for the praise, the affirmation. Over and over with no thought behind it, really. Like muscle memory, a pompous gloat every time his hips slam home into his prince, stroking his own ego the way Noctis’s slicked-up inner walls are stroking his cock. “You like when I fuck you hard, baby?”

Noctis nods because that’s all he can manage, puts his heated forehead to the cool mats on the floor to anchor himself He’s close, _gods_ , so close, he can’t see the lines on the hardwood floor or the stitches on the old mats for how his vision is whiting out, can barely hear Gladio’s word over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. It’s so good, it’s everything he’s ever wanted and more - 

“Tell me you like it, baby. _Fuck,_ tell me you like it when daddy fucks you.” Gladio grunts it, fists his hand in Noctis’s hair again and pulls, hand skittering up his spine again as he keeps his steady rhythm. Noctis’s hands clench into fists, nails scraping the unforgiving hard training room floor. _Fuck_ , _yes_.

“I like it,” he croaks as Gladio slides his big, warm hand around his neck, settling at his throat and for a fleeting second Noctis thinks he’ll have a set of fingerprints to match the ones bruised into his hips, thinks about how it would feel to wear even more of Gladio on him, in him, _with him always_. “I love it when you, ah - when you fuck me, daddy, _please -”_

Noctis feels it acutely when Gladio comes, feels it filling him up from the inside and swears it's so deep inside his belly’s full with it, bred well and truly deep by the animal that Gladiolus can be.


End file.
